The Young Gentleman and Lady's Monitor, and English Teacher's Assistant eBook

never be too late
To sue for chains, and own
a conqueror.
Why should Rome fall a moment
ere her time?
No—­let us draw
our term of freedom out
In its full length, and spin
it to the last:
So shall we gain still one
day’s liberty.
And, let me perish, but, in
Cato’s judgment,
A day, an hour, of virtuous
liberty,
Is worth a whole eternity
of bondage.

CATO, solus, sitting in a thoughtful posture:
In his hand Plato’s book on the immortality
of the soul. A drawn sword on the table by him.

It must be so—­Plato,
thou reason’st well!—­
Else, whence this pleasing
hope, this fond desire,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this secret dread,
and inward horror,
Of falling into nought?
Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and startles
at destruction?
’Tis the divinity that
stirs within us;
’Tis heav’n itself,
that points out—­an hereafter,
And intimates—­eternity
to man.
Eternity!—­thou
pleasing—­dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untry’d
beings,
Through what new scenes and
changes must we pass!
The wide, th’ unbounded
prospect lies before me—­
But shadows, clouds, and darkness
rest upon it.—­
Here will I hold. If
there’s a pow’r above us,
(And that there is all nature
cries aloud
Through all her works) he
must delight in virtue;
And that which he delights
in must be happy.
But, when! or where! this
world—­was made for Caesar.
I’m weary of conjectures—­this
must end ’em.
[Laying
his hand on his sword.

Thus am I doubly arm’d;
my death and life,
My bane and antidote are both
before me:
This, in a moment, brings
me to an end;
But this informs me I shall
never die.
The soul, secur’d in
her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies
its point.
The stars shall fade away,
the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature
sink in years;
But thou shalt flourish in
immortal youth,
Unhurt amid the war of elements,
The wrecks of matter; and
the crush of worlds.
What means this heaviness
that hangs upon me?
This lethargy that creeps
through all my senses?
Nature oppress’d, and
harrass’d out with care;
Sinks down to rest. This
once I’ll favour her;
That my awaken’d soul
may take her flight,
Renew’d in all her strength,
and fresh with life;
An offering fit for Heav’n.
Let guilt or fear
Disturb man’s rest;
Cato knows neither of ’em;
Indiff’rent in his choice,
to sleep or die.